Triggers & Ties 1, 2, 3 & 4
by Kuria Dalmatia
Summary: It wasn't fair to Reid to compare to Haley - something Aaron told himself every time they were together - but he found himself unable to stop. ADULT CONTENT. RE-POSTED in chapter format for Parts 1-4.
1. Triggers & Ties 1: Halo

**Title:** Triggers and Ties, Part 1: Halo  
**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia  
**Rating:** FRAO/NC-17, sexual and adult situations, profanity  
**Pairing:** Hotch/Reid

**Summary:** It wasn't fair to Reid to be compared to Haley - something Aaron told himself every time they were together - but he found himself unable to stop.

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.  
SERIES: _Criminal Minds_

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own _Criminal Minds_. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

VERSION: December 2008/January 2009

TIMELINES: _Criminal Minds_ Season 3 post-"Damaged" with references to "The Crossing", 4th Season's "The Angel Maker" and "Minimal Loss"

COMMENTS: I'm not a Haley-hater, but I wanted to explore Hotch's sexuality and identity as his relationship with Reid progresses. Hotch and Haley were high school sweethearts, so I did take some liberties with the background and just how much experience Hotch has as well as how much Reid has.

**/***/  
"Mankind are governed more by their feelings than by reason."  
-Samuel Adams  
/***/**

Those in Aaron Hotchner's neighborhood were well aware of his divorce and that he now lived alone. They knew that the younger man who sometimes came home with him was Dr. Reid, a coworker. They also knew that Reid usually stayed overnight because they worked through cases until odd hours when riding the subway home wasn't necessarily an option. Yes, they were nosey, but Aaron had decided forfeiting a few details was much better than them actively snooping or trolling Reid for information when the younger man left the house.

Aaron wondered if they knew that "working through cases" meant Reid closing the door with his foot before pushing Aaron against the wall for a deep kiss. From there, they would either continue kissing, mutually masturbate, sixty-nine... basically everything but actual penetration, depending on how needy or exhausted Aaron and Reid were.

Tonight was one of those "needy" nights.

Reid had him against the wall, hands sliding along his chest and lips against his.

Urgent. Powerful. Grounding.

It had never been like that with Haley. Their "hello" kiss had been one of duty and acknowledgement. Aaron wasn't sure when they had developed a pattern on how they touched each other, but he knew it had its roots in high school. It had been always very set, very safe. She had kissed him demurely. He had kissed her in kind. Physical intimacy had been restricted to the bedroom even before Jack had been born.

Aaron remembered her reasoning: Haley had wanted to be his oasis from the violence he saw with his job. At least, that was the reasoning she'd given him seven years ago, but even before that, they had always had a very strict, very safe sex life. Still, he had wanted to worship her, to remind himself how lucky he was to have such a beautiful wife.

"Hotch?" Reid asked, concern clear in his voice. Even now, they stuck to last names.

Aaron glanced down to see his tie undone as well as his shirt, which hung open to reveal his white undershirt. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to break his chain of thoughts. It wasn't fair to Reid to compare - something he told himself every time they were together - but he found himself unable to stop.

He didn't want to answer; instead, he pulled Reid closer (gently, of course) and began kissing him.

Chastely.

"I'm not going to break," Reid said against his lips. He said the same thing every time, with that matter-of-fact tone to remind him that he wasn't Haley. As if the sparse five o'clock shadow against Aaron's cheek and hard-on pressed into Aaron's thigh could ever be Haley. Hell, Haley had never pounced him, much less strip him in the hallway, even when blood had stained his suit jacket and shirt.

"I know," Aaron replied. And before Reid could ask the question all good lovers asked when their partners were less than enthusiastic, he said fiercely, "I _want_ this. I _need_ this."

**/***/  
"If you can't get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you'd best teach it to dance."  
- George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950)  
/***/**

Aaron and Reid had been on separate cases - Reid with the stalker and Aaron dealing with the battered woman - but they still ended up at Aaron's house afterwards.

When Reid was there, they spent most of their time in the formal living room and, if the other man spent the night, Reid ended up in the guest room on a double bed where his feet hung off the bottom. They didn't sleep together; the one time Aaron had actually shared the bed, he had fallen out when he had rolled over.

They never went to Aaron's bedroom despite everything being brand new; Aaron wasn't sure if it was him or Reid who decided on the unspoken rule. When Haley had left, the only furniture she'd taken had been their bedroom set ("It's not like you ever used it or slept in the bed"), Jack's bedroom set ("He need something familiar"), the kitchen table from the breakfast nook ("It's not like you ever ate at home"), and one of the couches from the family room ("When was the last time you watched TV?").

She'd taken a smattering of other things besides hers and Jack's clothing - the television, DVD player, all of Jack's toys, her family photos and all of Jack's baby pictures and videos, the formal china from her parents, the Waterford crystal and her grandmother's heirloom silver - but didn't empty out the home as he had expected her to. Hell, he still had a full set of everyday dishes, pots, pans, casseroles, and flatware.

Haley had been deliberate. She always knew how to send unspoken messages.

Cold hands suddenly gripped his sides. Aaron yelped in surprise at the chilly fingers as Reid maneuvered him into the living room. He allowed Reid to push him into the white high-backed chair with oversized armrests. It wasn't the most comfortable seat - and what _had_ he been thinking when he agreed to Haley's concept of all-white furniture and carpeting? - but it seemed to be Reid's favorite place to start.

Reid pushed the Ottoman to the side and settled between Aaron's legs, deftly working Aaron's belt buckle, button and zipper. One shoe off. One trouser leg off. Underwear slid down and one leg freed. Trousers and boxers were then bunched around the one black leather dress shoe Reid hadn't taken off him.

Quirky, just like Reid. Unconventional, because if you were going to have sex, why not be completely naked? But Reid didn't seem to care. Aaron forced himself not to either. At least, he tried to.

The only time Aaron had been naked around Haley had been while taking a shower and dressing afterwards, or when they had sex. She had always worn a short nightgown - pink, silky, and utterly (demurely) feminine - and had always had her panties folded up under her pillow to be slipped on when they finished. He had always taken the lead, from reverently caressing her skin to gently rubbing her to an orgasm to pushing his penis inside her and keeping his thrusts... well... polite, if there was such a thing.

Not too hard, not too fast. As he had performed, Haley had told him how handsome he was, how much she loved him in a sing-song voice that at one time, Aaron had found appealing. No dirty talk. No demands. No nails raking across his back. No other sexual position except for missionary style.

Haley didn't want to be like _those_ women that Aaron had to deal with daily, the ones who had been tortured, sexually abused, murdered... She had demanded to be his oasis and he had believed it to be acceptable. Normal.

A long, lingering lick on his cock caused Aaron to groan, snapping his attention to the present. Reid began sucking and working his hand up and down. Aaron gripped the armrests of the chair, wanting so badly to thread his hands in Reid's hair, which brushed his lap and made his skin all the more sensitive. He held back, because it wouldn't be good to force Reid...

Fingers encircled Aaron's wrist and pulled his hand down until it rested on Reid's hair. Aaron made another sound as a surge shot through his body, making his back arch and curling his toes.

Reid was incredibly talented. For all the teasing at the BAU about Reid's lack of experience, his skills as a lover had thoroughly surprised Aaron. He'd expected them both to be fumbling around and Reid to have book nearby for guidance. Instead, Reid easily went from kissing to groping to cocksucking, yet never once made Aaron feel (too) inadequate.

"I'll let you know when something bothers me," he had told Aaron that second night. "I know you'll do the same."

Reid caressed Aaron's balls and inner thighs, eliciting an embarrassing gasp of "Oh God yes," from Aaron as he tightened his grip because, well, it was new territory for him. He swore he felt Reid smiling against his skin.

Haley had only performed fellatio twice - her hair drawn back into a low ponytail - and rarely touched him so intimately. He had once wondered if she had had been sexually abused because, honestly, all the signs were there. It had taken him six months to finally convince himself that she hadn't been, that she had been naturally conservative in her views of sex and what was proper.

Aaron never lasted long when Reid used his mouth. He could feel the orgasm building in the base of his spine. "Close... so close."

Reid stopped.

The sound Aaron made was an odd cross between a growl and a whimper, but he knew Reid had something else in mind. They usually brought each other close to orgasm then stopped. To finish, they would mutually jack off, suck each other, or rub against each other until they came. Aaron didn't particularly care how they did it, because it was always good.

Better than it ever had been with Haley.

Reid grabbed his tie and pulled him forward into an intense kiss. Aaron slid to his knees from the chair, scooting along the carpet with Reid to get distance from the chair. To his surprise, Reid's trousers were already undone, his hard cock jutting in the air. As he kissed, Aaron wrapped his hand around Reid and began working him, although the angle was awkward and he'd forgotten one of the things that made sex with another man much, much easier: lubrication.

"Mhmm, waitasecond," Reid breathed into his mouth. Aaron heard the jangling of a belt and the click of a cap, and then felt a cool, viscous liquid splash on his hand. Of course, Reid would think of everything.

But before Aaron could feel embarrassed about not keeping lube in his pocket when he knew damn well that he would need it this evening, Reid stroked his cock and promptly derailed Aaron's train of thought. Reid bent backwards with ease and it only took a few moments of positioning until Aaron was on top of Reid, who had worked his own trousers down below his knees, and their cocks slid against each other.

Aaron straddled him, pants still tangled around one leg, toes flexed against the carpet to keep his position although his knees slid occasionally. He wanted to question because this was different than what they had done before and then wondered when he became so obsessed about a sexual routine.

The joy with Reid was that it was always unexpected, always new.

Aaron felt alive when he was with Reid.

"C'mon," Reid murmured breathlessly as his fingers dug into Aaron's ass, urging him.

It was never like this with Haley. Never spontaneous. Never unplanned. Never on the floor of the living room where anyone at the window could see the two of them going at it.

Aaron's movements were not slow and polite; he kept his eyes closed, concentrating. He didn't stare at his lover's face to see if everything was ok. After all, Reid had been quite clear that he'd let him know if something was wrong. Sex was never perfect; there were always adjustments to get the right angle and movements when flesh got twisted unexpectedly or in the way.

But it was good. Always good.

"Yes," Reid groaned as their cocks rubbed and his hands helped Aaron keep the pace. They were both close; Aaron could tell by the change in Reid's breathing patterns.

He had the sudden desire to watch Reid orgasm, to watch as the pleasure contorted his face and erased the seriousness. He wondered if he looked the same when he came. He hoped so.

He opened his eyes.

And stared...

... at the hair perfectly fanned out against the stark white of the carpet.

Like a halo.

Like the way Haley had always brushed her hair out on the pillows every time before they had made love.

Every ounce of passion drained from Aaron's body. He momentarily froze. His cock went soft. He couldn't close his eyes, couldn't shut out the concerned yet panicked look spreading across Reid's face. Reid let him go.

Aaron choked out a few nonsensical sounds, unable to give an explanation although Reid certainly deserved one. Humiliation hit next and he scrambled to his feet, tripping over his pants before pulling them up awkwardly and racing upstairs.

He wondered when he'd become so weak. So damaged. So uncertain. So unlike the Aaron Hotchner, Supervisory Special Agent and Unit Chief.

Aaron wondered why the hell Reid put up with him.

/***/ End Part 1/***/


	2. Triggers & Ties 2: Step

**Title:** Triggers and Ties, Part 2: Step  
**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia  
**Rating:** FRAO/NC-17, sexual and adult situations, frank discussion of sex, profanity  
**Pairing:** Hotch/Reid  
**Summary:** It wasn't fair to Reid to compare to Haley - something Aaron told himself every time they were together - but he found himself unable to stop.

Unbeta'd, since my usual suspects are completely swamped and aren't familiar with the show at all.

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

TIMELINES: Criminal Minds Season 3 post-"Damaged" with references to "The Crossing", 4th Season's "The Angel Maker" and "Minimal Loss"

_**/***/  
"I do not want a friend who smiles when I smile, who weeps when I weep, for my shadow in the pool can do better than that."  
- Confucius  
/***/ **_

After his humiliating retreat up the stairs, Aaron stood in the master bath looking into the mirror. The face staring back at him had bloodshot eyes with dark circles, lines around the mouth, and a few gray hairs at the temples.

He glanced at the door, wondering how long it would take Reid to demand to know what was wrong. He then realized that he had retreated to the master bathroom and it was doubtful Reid would cross that particular boundary. That meant, of course, that Aaron would have to go downstairs. The longer he waited, the worse the argument was going to be. He knew the way things worked in this house.

God, he was such a coward.

His white dress shirt was unbuttoned with his blue striped tie undone; he still had his charcoal gray pinstriped suit jacket on, the blue pocket kerchief spilling out. His undershirt was rucked up on one side, showing his right hip and part of his muscled belly. He looked down at his manhood, which glistened slightly from the lube. It just dangled there, soft and useless. His pants were around one ankle.

He cleaned himself and pulled up his underwear and trousers, buttoning and zipping as he took a step towards the door. Aaron paused, fingers touching the doorknob. He took a few deep breaths before opening it then tossing his jacket, tie and dress shirt on the bed.

As Aaron approached the top of the stairs, he was surprised him that Reid wasn't waiting at the bottom. He recalled quite a few spectacular arguments with Haley in the stairwell, her strident tone echoing as it had turned shrill. He listened carefully but it was quiet.

He made his way down the stairs, pausing as he strained hear something. Anything. There was nothing.

Aaron mentally prepared himself for the confrontation, because obviously, Reid was waiting for him in the living room. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to say but he tried to ready himself for Reid yelling at him the moment he stepped foot in the room. Reid suddenly sobbing hysterically. Reid tearfully demanding what he had done to drive Aaron away. Reid wailing about his own inadequacies. Reid viciously (and accurately) accusing Aaron of being a coward and calling in to questing his manhood.

Reid _something_ besides… sitting on that stupid white couch and reading a damn case file.

The sharp smell of coffee hit and he glanced down at the table. One mug was there, the other on the side table next to Reid. It was strange. Odd. Coffee before an argument? The Nespresso machine was the first "Reid" item that now resided at Aaron's house. It showed up before the toothbrush and razor.

He entered the living room. Reid looked up, met his gaze, and then closed the file. Aaron remembered the one time Reid had read aloud passages from TS Eliot, and he had been surprised how expressive Reid's voice was.

Yet now… No accusations. No demands. Just that damn, patient look.

Aaron looked away and began pacing, trying to find the words, but his mind was blank. Him, the man who battled wits with the bad guys on a regular basis to save lives. Him, seasoned hostage negotiator who lectured at the Bureau.

Him, the man who freaked out over of a halo of hair.

Moron. Spineless coward.

"You, ah, may want to take your other shoe off," Reid said with that touch of hesitant humor that meant he was desperately trying to lighten the mood. But instead of launching into a monologue about hip alignment or the history of chiropractors, Reid simply sat there, waiting.

Aaron stopped and looked down. In all his panic, he hadn't noticed he was still wearing the one shoe and sock Reid hadn't removed. His bare foot was tan against the white of the carpet. Haley's "only poor people walk around without shoes!" rung in his mind. One of the first things he had thrown out after she had left was his stupid monogrammed slippers.

He glanced at the ottoman and the chair, back in their usual position facing the couch. He looked sideways at Reid but didn't meet his eyes, noting the other man had redressed and looked as if nothing had happened earlier.

Aaron let out a long sigh as he ambled over the couch but sat as far away as possible. He removed his shoe and sock, placing them next the other one under the coffee table. He still refused to look up. Confessions, concessions and apologies were always much easier when he was in a penitent position: hands folded, head down.

"I'm… I'm sorry." He braced himself for the onslaught of questions that inevitably came whenever he apologized because whatever he said was never good enough. Questions followed by accusations followed by a screaming match followed by Aaron being banished to the guest room and his cell phone being thrown at his head.

When there was no immediate response, Aaron closed his eyes. He hated this part the most. "You didn't do anything wrong. It was me. I… I…"

Reid's hand was suddenly on his forearm, squeezing hard and causing him to stop speaking. Aaron refused to look up as he felt Reid shift towards him.

Reid's voice was soft, painfully earnest. "You wouldn't believe me if I said that there was nothing to apologize for, so… apology accepted." There was a pause. Delicately, as if he were speaking with an unsub who was two steps away from becoming unhinged, Reid continued, "May I as you something? Actually, it's more like some _things_ instead of one, but you don't have to answer any of them. You can tell me to fuck off—"

Aaron jerked his head up, staring squarely at the other man and thoroughly stunned by the use of profanity.

Reid offered a lopsided grin. "Knew that would get your attention." He waggled his eyebrows before turning serious again. "Anyway, I just want to understand, okay?"

And _that_ comment made Aaron turn his head away.

"I want to _understand_," Reid repeated as he gave a sharp squeeze. "Not to judge." He let go and flopped back on the couch, his voice taking on that frustrated tone he used when people dismissed him. "I am _not_ judging you. We had an agreement. We'd let each other know if something bothered us. Okay. Well. Here we are."

"Here we are," Aaron repeated.

"Right. And now, you want me to argue with you. Well, I won't."

Aaron glared at him.

Reid lifted his chin. "I _won't_, Hotch." His gaze didn't falter. Aaron was stunned by the intensity, the defiance, and – of all the damned things – protectiveness. "So whatever it is, we'll work through it. You're too important."

_**/***/**_

_**"Fear is not in the habit of speaking truth."  
- Tacitus**_

_**/***/**_

The SUV blast had caused hearing damage. The doctor had been blunt about the after-care, specifically that if Aaron didn't allow sufficient time for healing, he would have permanent loss. Even though that should have put the fear of God into him - hearing aids would land him a desk job, not out in the field where he could do more good - Aaron had stubbornly ignored the orders.

Rossi had chewed him out in that special Rossi "I'm you're friend no matter if you like it or not" kind of way. However, it had been the _Journal of the Academy of Rehabilitative Audiology_ tucked into his briefcase that had really struck home. If he could have stared down Reid for his audaciousness, Aaron would have but had realized that Reid wouldn't have backed down.

"You're too important," Reid had said that night. "We'll work through it."

Aaron's ego had screamed at him about being weak, that Reid was just a kid and shouldn't talk to him that way, shouldn't have the knowledge that he had. Yet, it had been Reid's bluntness that had allowed Aaron to confess why he had run away. Reid had nodded before his lips had quirked into that small smile. "I don't care how great the sex is. I'm _so_ not cutting my hair."

That had been the first time Aaron had called him "Samson."

But that had been weeks ago. Tonight, Aaron knew that the rest of the team had gotten back two days ago but he had taken his time driving home, his concession to Rossi about a) taking time off and b) not screwing up his hearing even more than it was. He briefly thought about visiting Jack, but Aaron wasn't up to facing former in-laws who had never approved of his decision to join the BAU. The divorce had only made their attitudes towards him worse.

Perhaps that was why he ended up in front of Reid's apartment building, not bothering to stop at his own home first. Aaron needed to feel needed. Selfish, for sure, which was why Aaron had gone up to Reid's door six times in the past seventy-five minutes, poised to knock because Reid hated the doorbell, and then walking away before his knuckles hit the wood.

Him. Unit Chief. SSA. Leader. Unable to work up the nerve. Wasn't Reid supposed to be the insecure one?

The seventh time, he did knock. When there was no immediate answer, Aaron took a chance and rang the doorbell, but didn't hear it chime. Maybe Reid had finally disabled it. Aaron waited a few minutes before realizing that at 9:43 p.m. on a Thursday night, Spencer Reid wasn't home.

_You could call him, you know,_ his mind primly informed him. _That is why you have a cell phone._ He knew that Reid would answer, probably on the second ring. Aaron rested his hand on the phone clipped to his belt before shaking his head.

With Haley, this sort of thing had been easy. In high school, he used to stop by her house unannounced all the time and, if she hadn't been there, he had shrugged it off. Haley had friends. She had played on the varsity volleyball team.

For Aaron to assume that Reid didn't have friends outside the BAU was ignorant. He knew that Reid had, at one time, been a member of a chess club, and that he also did some community work, although Reid was always deliberately vague about the latter. Aaron never pushed. He also knew that Reid was pursuing a BA in Philosophy, although he never saw him actually working on it.

"—Hotch?" The voice startled Aaron, causing him to whirl and hand sliding from phone to gun.

Reid stood in the hallway, cradling a brown paper bag that had been folded and stapled at the top. Surprise, panic, and curiosity flitted across Reid's features before finally settling on a raised eyebrow as if to say, "You're not going to shoot me, are you?" followed by slightly pursed lips, as Reid mulled over the right thing to say.

"I didn't…" Aaron began but the rest of the sentence stuck in his throat. _You didn't hear him because of the ringing in your ears,_ his mind sneered. _He probably called your name three times before finally shouting it._

"You're just in time for dinner," Reid said but his tone was a bit too forced, a bit too nervously friendly as he held up the bag for emphasis. He then scooted in front of Aaron and unlocked the door. Reid entered, turning on the lights, and deposited the brown bag on the kitchen island.

Aaron took a step inside but pressed the doorbell button. Reid jumped. All Aaron could hear was the muted ding dong although he knew the thing was loud. He didn't look up as he closed the door. He didn't let go of the handle either.

Feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to change anything. Seeking pity from Reid wasn't going to help either.

Cool fingers wrapped around Aaron's wrist, tugging until he released his hold on the door. Reid led him to the kitchen and then quickly unpacked a small montage of Chinese takeout. From the cupboard and drawer, he pulled two mismatched plates, a fork, and a pair of chopsticks. The stools were on either side of the island, just like the last time they had shared dinner. After all, Reid's kitchen table was piled with books.

"Chopsticks are all yours," Reid announced as he opened up the first white container. Aaron remembered the time Reid asked for fork because of his lack of chopstick dexterity. Aaron had learned to use the utensils while in Seattle - one had to in order to survive a corporate lunch - but Haley had been all about forks, knives and spoons. He recalled how she had frowned when he had showed off his newly acquired skill.

"Ma Yi Shang Shu..." Reid continued. "You know, when the restaurant first opened, they listed this dish as 'Ants Climbing Trees'. Given the common misconceptions about what is used in Chinese cooking, it's no surprise they changed it." He opened the second box. "Ah! Steamed dumplings with crab." He waved it under Aaron's nose. "They're not on the menu unless you order it in Cantonese."

That caused Aaron to finally meet Reid's gaze. "Cantonese?" he repeated dumbly, because clearly, tonight wasn't his night for making intelligent conversation.

"Well, you can order in French. At least, you pretend that you can." He grinned crookedly. "You'd be surprised what a few key phrases will win you at the takeout place down the street." He scooped food from one box, then plopped two of the dumplings on his plate.

No questions on why he was here. No questions on why he rang that stupid doorbell. He wondered what the hell Rossi had said to him. Then, exhaustion hit Aaron out of nowhere, pushing out the tension from his shoulders and spine. He wondered if it was perhaps because Reid made eating takeout at the kitchen island so normal.

As Aaron wrestled noodles out of the container, Reid retrieved two short glasses from the cabinet and set them on the table. Then, he pulled a can of Tsingtao beer from the paper bag, opened it, and split the contents between the two glasses.

Reid settled back on the stool. His voice was quiet, reflective. "I'm glad you're here." It was that odd confessional tone Aaron had only heard a few times. "I really didn't want to celebrate alone."

"Celebrate?" knowing that it was the second stupid question he had asked that evening. Aaron went through the dates he knew about - Reid's birthday, BAU anniversary, college graduation (although which year for which university for which degree was impossible to keep straight) - and came up blank.

Reid picked up his glass, staring at it before saying quietly, "One year, three months."

It hit like a punch to the gut. In the months they had been together, intimate details about each other were few and far between. Sure, they had sex. They had great sex, but that physical intimacy didn't quite translate to emotional intimacy. So when one of them shared something, it was certainly a big deal.

Aaron suddenly recalled the confrontation with Reid - _Spencer_ - three months ago. While working the case, Spencer had been short-tempered, irritable, and his hands had shaken more than usual. Concern had overridden discretion and Aaron had called him on it while in earshot of Rossi and Morgan. "Are you using again?"

Spencer's reaction should have been the clue - raised voice, flailing arms and the pure wounded look in his eyes - but Aaron hadn't relented. Two days after they had returned to Quantico, Spencer had confronted him in his office, slamming the door shut and slapping a coin down on Aaron's desk.

Angry. Defiant. Daring. So unlike the meek Spencer Reid from three years ago. Spencer didn't just share with anyone, especially things like this. "Twelve months, sixteen hours, forty-three minutes," Spencer had spat as he had slid the coin towards him. "Do you want to know how many seconds?"

Aaron had been too stunned to reply and had then watched Spencer storm out of his office – deliberately shoulder-checking Morgan on the way back to his desk – and pack up his belongings for the day. Morgan, of course, had chased after him and had earned a "Fuck off, Derek!" for his trouble. The only reason why Morgan hadn't continued after Spencer had been because Rossi had stopped him. Instead of being angry or perturbed, Aaron had found himself proud. It had still taken three dinners to get things back to normal although neither apologized for their actions.

Now, in the quiet of Spencer's kitchen, Aaron said sincerely, "Congratulations," as he lifted his own glass and tapped it against Spencer's.

Spencer nodded before his lips quirked into a half-smile. "What? No lecture about trading one vice for another?"

"You only purchased one beer," Aaron answered seriously as he speared one of the dumplings with his chopstick. "And... if you didn't have anyone to share it with, you would have put it in the fridge on the second shelf behind the mayonnaise where the four other cans of Tsingtao are. Where's the sauce?"

"Sauce? You're a heathen. Actually, one of those is Sapporo. I bought sushi when I celebrated nine months." Spencer's pride was obvious.

_And it should be,_ Aaron told himself. He felt honored that Spencer would share something so private, so personal, with him. He hoped he didn't sound too idiotic as he said softly, "Thank you."

Spencer's grin was back as he nodded, launching into the details about Dry Senso, the Japanese breweries' war over dry beer. Aaron listened as he ate, surprised at the quality of the takeout. Maybe he should learn some Cantonese, too.

_**/***/  
"Progress comes from the intelligent use of experience."  
- Elbert Hubbard  
/***/**_

After dinner, they shared a few casual kisses on the couch until Spencer declared, "You're totally rank," his nose wrinkling as he pulled out of the embrace. "You are definitely taking a shower."

Aaron protested mildly as Spencer pushed him towards the bathroom, but he gave in after being handed a towel and a washcloth. When he was finished, he pulled back the shower curtain and he stared stupidly at the undershirt and sweatpants on the toilet seat. His other clothes and shoes were nowhere in sight.

_You didn't hear him come in, jackass!_ his mind sneered. _Some FBI *you* are!_ But that was quickly countered by, _Are you *seriously* going to turn down Spencer's invitation?_

He dressed quickly despite the nerves welling up in his belly. He'd only been here a few times and those had all been confined to the couch except for once. Spencer had sat on the countertop and had gotten them both off, an event that still boggled Aaron's mind.

Yet now, the lights in the apartment had been turned off except for those in the bedroom. Aaron had a feeling Spencer would hold his clothing hostage until he got whatever he wanted.

Strangely enough, he was okay with that.

The bedroom was dominated by a California King bed. Spencer was propped up by a mound of pillows against the headboard with two books and a notebook to his side. He furiously tapped the laptop keyboard and used a third book as a makeshift lap desk. The younger man looked devastatingly sexy in blue seersucker pajamas and horn-rimmed glasses. Aaron stood in the doorway, momentarily confused.

Spencer patted the place next to him but didn't look up. "Just need to finish this up. Fifteen minutes max. The paper's not due until Monday but this professor… well… I'm not sure why I'm even _in_ the class. For some reason, I opted not to test of out of it. Anyway, he's rejected two of my theses because apparently, I'm referencing materials that should only be used by fourth year students." He glanced up and then dramatically appraised Aaron from top to bottom. A smile broke across his features._ "N-i-i-i-ce,"_ he said in that approving, lusty tone before going back and typing some more.

It was both flattering and a little embarrassing; it had been years since Haley had paid him any kind of compliment like that. Aaron crawled into bed, adjusting some of the pillows. He wasn't quite sure what to say; he remembered his own college career, graduating, passing the bar exam, and running like hell because he was sick of studying. So, he settled underneath the covers on his side, facing Spencer, with the intention of waiting until he had finished so that they could celebrate properly.

Aaron hadn't planned on promptly falling asleep.

When he woke up at 3:36 a.m. - Spencer had at least four clocks in the bedroom – humiliation burned his cheeks. Christ, he was old. For the umpteenth time, he wondered why the hell Spencer put up with him. He slipped out of bed.

The room wasn't completely dark because the glow from the digital clocks and he could see Spencer sleeping on his side, facing the spot Aaron just vacated. He then navigated his way to the bathroom, thankful for the strategically placed nightlights. Spencer had more books than bookshelves, which meant some were scattered in the hallway, underneath furniture, and other odd places and they always threatened to trip Aaron when he was here.

In the bathroom, he did his business and he washed his hands. Aaron considered searching for his ready bag and leaving; after all, he had dry cleaning to drop off, bills to pay, and checking online to make sure the child support payment had been debited. Haley had been pissed when it was late last month, refusing to admit that it was her fault for giving him the wrong account number to her new bank.

He barely looked up as he left and plowed right into Spencer.

Aaron opened his mouth to say something, to deny that he was thinking about taking off, to fend off whatever accusation Spencer was certainly going to hurl at him. Haley had perfected the outside-the-bathroom confrontation; those had been the worse. "Where are you going now?" "I see someone else's family has taken priority over ours. Again!" "I had to hire a handyman out of the phone book to fix the garage door because you kept forgetting to find one!" "I had to put up the Christmas decorations by myself! Just like last year! When you had promised last year that you would be here this year!"

The words, however, caught in his throat. Aaron looked at Spencer - really looked this time not just a glance before looking down at the floor. Mussed brown hair that framed his face charmingly. Pale skin with sparse facial hair that could go days without shaving. Brown eyes that Aaron had a particular weakness for staring at him quizzically yet sleepily. The lapels of the blue pajamas in the periphery, one corner flipped up. Long graceful fingers reaching up to cover a jaw-cracking yawn.

Aaron slid his hand along Spencer's collar before threading his fingers in his hair, tilting his head slightly, and kissing him firmly. He didn't have to bend down, just lean into the body before him. He ran his tongue along Spencer's lips briefly before delivering a series of soft nips along his jaw. He usually wasn't this spontaneous - hell, the word "never" came to mind. Spencer always made the first move.

Yet there was no question where 'the mood' had come from. No reprimand of "Now? Do you have any idea what time it is?" No insisting that "For Christ's sake, Aaron! At least brush your teeth!" No protest that they were out in the hallway.

"Mmpf," Spencer said then placed two fingers on Aaron's lips before mumbling, "hold that thought," and scooting by him into the bathroom. "Really." He gave him a gentle push forward before closing the door. No questions. No arguments. No accusations. Just the simple fact that Spencer had to use the toilet.

Aaron went back to the bedroom and stretched out under the sheets, adjusting his hard-on. He wasn't sure where the sudden horniness came from but it felt good to be affectionate and not be either condemned or eyed suspiciously for it. He closed his eyes as he stroked himself casually, wondering if Spencer was really up for sex at 4 a.m.

He felt the bed dip as Spencer crawled in, approaching from the bottom and moving up until he straddled Aaron's knees.

"Starting without me?" Spencer teased as he yanked the sheet back.

Yet instead of being embarrassed that he'd been discovered - Aaron did not want to think about the time Haley caught him jacking off in the shower - confidence blossomed in his belly. He opened his eyes and deadpanned, "I'm holding that thought."

Spencer grinned and Aaron sat up, grabbing and pulling him forward. Once the other man was close enough, Aaron passionately kissed him. He felt his shirt being tugged up and nails raking across his lower back. He groaned, still unused to the pleasure and the touch.

Quickly, Aaron worked the buttons of Spencer's shirt, pulling it off him before he yanked off his own tee and threw it to the floor. He licked Spencer's neck and collarbone while lightly pinching a nipple; Spencer arched and gasped. As quirky as Spencer was about being touched when in public, behind closed doors was entirely different. It was a contradiction that often left Aaron confused and uncertain just what he could do.

"Yes, yes," Spencer moaned as he rocked in Aaron's lap and dragged his nails up Aaron's back.

He shut his rational mind down because he didn't want to hear Haley's voice telling him that he was some kind of sex offender for enjoying this. He dumped Spencer on his back - a trick he wasn't quite sure how he managed - and yanked on the waistband of the pajama pants.

"I'll let you know when something bothers me."

Aaron prayed fervently it was true.

Spencer lifted his hips and Aaron slid the pants off - no underwear, Aaron noted as another jolt of lust raced through him. As he took Spencer's cock in his mouth, the scent of Irish Spring hit and he groaned. Oh hell yes Spencer was up for sex at 4 a.m. It was then Aaron remembered that his lover didn't keep traditional hours, sleeping at odd times during the day if he could and working on his degree at oh-god-awful in the morning because it was the quietest time.

Long fingers latched on to his hair, urging him. "Suck me. Yeah, that's it. Take it deeper."

Aaron had a kink for Spencer talking dirty to him. He obliged, thrilled at the way Spencer responded to him with moans and shudders. He caressed Spencer's balls as he spread his legs wider, eager to touch and explore. Haley had never allowed such intimate contact. Aaron had only attempted to perform cunnilingus once – back in Seattle after listening to one of the guys brag – and had ended up sleeping on the couch of their two bedroom apartment for a week.

Aaron had no idea where all his confidence was coming from. Perhaps because Spencer was so damn expressive and there was no mistaking his arousal. Aaron had stopped counting how many times Haley had pretended to get off; she wasn't a champion faker by any stretch of the imagination, but it had been easier to let it slide than have her cruelly assess his talents.

When he dared to stroke Spencer's perineum – Christ, he was going to have to stop using such technical terms – Spencer cried out, "Yes!"

He continued the assault, sliding his index finger along the crevice of his ass and brushing his hole. Spencer continued to writhe, making encouraging sounds. Suddenly, Spencer bolted upright, momentarily startling him, and he yanked open the nightstand drawer, pawed through the contents, and pulled out a vial of lube.

"Scoot to the floor," Spencer panted, eyes glazed with lust. "You'll get a better angle." He then held out the lube. Aaron hesitantly took it but again obeyed Spencer's wishes. It took a few moments until he was down on his knees at the side of the bed, between Spencer's spread legs. "Touch me," Spencer said softly as he stroked himself. "Please."

Aaron forced the nerves from his hands. He wasn't sure if he was ready to graduate to this level, but the way Spencer bit his lower lip in anticipation made him want to please his lover more than anything else. The lube was cold on his fingers and he rubbed his thumb, forefinger, and index finger together to warm it up a little. Then, Aaron began sucking Spencer's cock as he worked his fingers down.

"That's it," Spencer panted. "Yeah. Around like that. Ahh! Good. Don't stop."

Fingering Spencer's ass while he sucked him off made his own cock rock hard. As he slid a finger in and out, Spencer moved to where he was propped up on both elbows, toying with his nipple as he watched. It should have been unnerving, but the look in Spencer's eyes gave Aaron the courage to be bolder. He dared to add a second finger and was rewarded with Spencer gasping and arching, complete with an "Ahhh... yesss!" hissed breathlessly.

When he twisted his fingers, Spencer let out a sharp cry. Aaron immediately stopped. He moved to withdrawal, fearing he'd hurt him, when Spencer's hand latched to the back of his neck, holding him in place.

"Prostate," Spencer gasped. "Good thing. Don't stop. Please. Please don't stop."

Although embarrassed - for Christ's sake he should know about that - Aaron resumed, earning a plethora of moans and demands to go faster. He wasn't sure why he didn't obey the last part, keeping his pace slow and methodical. Perhaps because he felt so damn powerful, that he could elicit such an unabashed response from someone.

It was only when Spencer let out a mewling, _"Pleasedon'tstopsoclosesoclose"_ that Aaron picked up his pace, making sure to hit Spencer's prostate with each thrust. Spencer came with a shout, his back arching and fingers digging in to Aaron's skull. Aaron swallowed and when the grip finally loosened, delivered a series of kisses along Spencer's inner thighs as he slid his fingers out.

As he withdrew, Aaron stood and turned on the bedside lamp. His Spencer was sprawled on the bed, looking completely debauched and utterly, mind-blowingly sexy. Aaron's cock ached and he rubbed himself through the material. His mind raced through things that he could do: jack off and have his come splatter on Spencer's chest. Spencer sucking him off. Spencer jacking him off. Spencer fingering him and jacking or sucking him off.

But all those took a backseat. "I want you." And Christ Aaron couldn't believe he just said that. He couldn't remember the last time he was this aroused, yet this nervous, more so than that first time that they were together. He wasn't sure what to say, to convey precisely what he wanted to do because his mouth would simply not form those words, so he repeated, "I want you, Spencer."

The other man was still panting, blinking a few times as if to process the request. Then Spencer gracefully got to his feet, pressing his entire body against Aaron's.

"How do you want me?" Spencer asked, lips brushing his. His hands squeezed Aaron's ass before he licked his neck. Aaron's knees buckled slightly because that was one of the places that completely and utterly turned him on. Spencer continued his assault, voice soft, husky and seductive. "Like I was before? So you can watch?"

"I… I…" his breathing sped up but it had nothing to do with his arousal. He forced himself look at the ceiling as he pleaded, "Not… not that way. Please. I don't know how. This? I don't know… Christ… I…"

Spencer promptly kissed him, effectively shutting him up as he pushed down Aaron's sweats. He was maneuvered until the back of his knees were against the bed and Spencer nudged him to sit. Lips brushed the shell of his ear, another intense erogenous zone as of late. "Lay down," he said as he blindly rooted through the nightstand drawer. "Trust me."

Aaron wanted to retort that that was all he had been doing as of late: trusting Spencer. Yet he complied wordlessly as Spencer arranged him on the bed, his head resting on a few pillows and sweatpants tangled around one ankle. Spencer straddled his belly, assaulting his neck and collarbone with licks and nips while reaching back. He could feel the condom being rolled down his cock and then Spencer stroking him.

"Are you okay with this?" Spencer asked softly, hair curtaining around his face.

"I should be asking you that," he replied as he slid his hands to Spencer's hips. "But yes. I am. I want you."

Spencer favored him with a small smile before leaning back slightly. It was then Aaron could feel his cock pressing against him and then slowly sliding in. He gasped, surprised by the tightness and the heat.

"God," he muttered and wondered why the hell they hadn't done this before. It took a few minutes until he was all the way in, Spencer's breathing controlled while Aaron's was erratic.

Intense. Amazing. Different. He was at Spencer's mercy as the younger man began an agonizingly slow pace, shifting as if trying to work the right angle. Spencer bit his lower lip again as his fingers trailed across Aaron's chest and flicked his nipples.

"Unfair," he panted as he stroked Spencer's hip and thighs.

"Good?"

"Yes. God, yes."

"Hmmm… God…" Spencer grinned and went just a little faster. "I could get used to that."

"Great, feeding your ego," he replied as his eyes slipped closed. He'd never bantered while having sex. Ever. It was odd. Quirky. _Spencer._

"You said I needed more self-confidence."

"Out in the field. Not here. You've got enough for both of us and then some." He meant it as a tease, but it came out flatter than he expected. Spencer licked his neck and lightly bit his collar bone, earning a "God, you're amazing."

"Then tell me what you want," Spencer coaxed. "Harder. Softer. Faster. Slower." He kissed him and said against his lips, "I'm not going to break. I'll let you know if something bothers me."

"I know."

"Then tell me what you want."

"Faster," Aaron finally said. "Please." He was rewarded by an increased pace and he could feel the slow build of an orgasm.

"Touch me."

"Where?"

"Wherever you'd like."

"Here?"

"That works."

"God, Spencer."

"Faster?"

"Please…" Aaron opened his eyes and took in the sight of Spencer riding his cock, hair swaying with the rhythm. He stroked Spencer's semi-hard cock, knowing it was unlikely he'd be able to get off so soon. The second night they were together, he'd earned a lecture on post-orgasmic refractory periods.

Different. Intense. Sex had always been a duty. Intercourse part of the specific, set routine. One way. One position. One rhythm. Nothing ever like this. No lover caressing his skin, stroking his nipples, riding him with such grace and confidence. Yet as good as it was, Spencer's pace was torturous, just fast enough to keep him in frustratingly in limbo.

"Please… faster… please." It wasn't begging, was it? No. This was simply giving his lover guidance, just as Spencer had done earlier.

It was then Spencer went from casual to a driving rhythm, the change causing Aaron to unexpected cry out from the sheer pleasure. It was like his body suddenly was on fire yet all sensation was clearly focused on his cock.

"Spencer," he breathed, hands now gripping the other man's hips as the pace continued to increase. He could feel the muscles moving under his hands and prayed that Spencer wouldn't tire out before he came.

When Spencer began tweaking his nipples, another surge of arousal coursed through Aaron and suddenly, his balls began to tighten up as his orgasm was just… almost… there.

"Close," Aaron panted. "So close. Please. Don't stop. Please. Please…" Spencer shifted slightly and then somehow managed to caress Aaron's balls. The sensation was so overwhelming that when he called out, "Spencer" it morphed into "Spence-ahh!" and he kept repeating that until finally, blessedly… he came.

Hard. His back arched. His toes curled. And for the love of God, he swore he saw stars right before blackness took over.

Aaron jolted… awake? He wasn't sure. He blindly reached out and hit Spencer's hip. He turned his head and stared.

"Welcome back," Spencer said, his lips curved into a smug yet satisfied smile.

"Spencer."

The other man beamed. "Yes?"

"Are… you… what? Ah. Hurt you?"

"Hurt?" Spencer's raised an eyebrow then shook his head. "Nope."

"But…"

"Oh sure, I'm _sore_," he replied with an expression that could put Morgan's shit-eating grin to shame. "But I'm sore in that, 'I fucked Aaron Hotchner until he came screaming my name before he passed out' kind of sore." He let out a laugh as he trailed fingers up Aaron's chest. "I'm good with that."

Aaron winced, closing his eyes. "Christ."

"Actually, according to you, I'm God."

He opened one eye and tried to muster a glare, but couldn't. "You're going to be insufferable at work," he muttered.

"Discretion is the better part of valor."

"We're _profilers,_" he shot back lamely.

"Which means Morgan will go crazy as he tries to figure things out," he chuckled as he tangled himself around him. "But, Aaron… a gentleman _never_ tells. And _I_ am a perfect gentleman."

/***/ End Part 2 /***/


	3. Triggers & Ties 3: The Rules

**Title:** Triggers and Ties Part 3: The Rules  
**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia  
**Rating:** FRAO/NC-17, sexual and adult situations, frank discussion of sex, profanity  
**Pairing:** Hotch/Reid  
**Summary:** It wasn't fair to Reid to compare to Haley - something Aaron told himself every time they were together - but he found himself unable to stop.

Unbeta'd, since my usual suspects are completely swamped and aren't familiar with the show at all.

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

Feedback always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

TIMELINES: Criminal Minds Season 3 post-"Damaged" with references to "The Crossing", 4th Season's "The Angel Maker" and "Minimal Loss"

_**/***/**_

_**"Life is the art of drawing sufficient conclusions from insufficient premises."  
- Samuel Butler (1612-1680)**_

_**/***/**_

Sure, the rest of the team had noticed Spencer's growing confidence and all guessed that it was due to a blossoming relationship. Just as Spencer had predicted, Morgan made it his personal mission to find out who Spencer was seeing. And as Spencer promised, he refused to give away any details despite Morgan's creative ways of trying to get the younger man to trip up.

"C'mon, man," Morgan prodded, draping an arm around Spencer's shoulders as they sat next to each other on the jet. The invasion of personal space clearly made the younger man uncomfortable, something Morgan was counting on.

Son of a bitch.

"So what does Abigail do for a living?" It was an obvious tactic, but one indicating just how desperate Morgan was. Guess the name. Use it repeatedly in a conversation in hopes the suspect will grow frustrated enough with the badgering to correct the interrogator.

"Your Jedi mind-tricks won't work on me," Spencer replied without glancing up from the book he was blazing through despite looking as if he was ready to bolt from the chair.

"I bet she's one hot mamma," Morgan continued. "C'mon. You're not embarrassed of her, are you? You know we won't judge. We just want you to be happy. You know that, man."

"Then stop prying into my personal life," he retorted.

"Whoa-ho!" Morgan immediately leaned back, hands held up in surrender. "Wait… ah ha! Spencer's got himself a cougar!"

Prentiss and JJ stifled their laughter. Aaron hoped to God he didn't twitch because Dave was directly across from him. Age was the one thing that really bothered him in the relationship, although Spencer was adamant that it wasn't an issue. He continued his paperwork, only looking up after Spencer had completed his monologue on the mating habits of cougars and how the term was inaccurately used to describe a relationship between an older woman and a younger man.

Dave was staring at him with one eyebrow cocked slightly. Aaron kept his features perfectly blank. Only then did Dave's lips lift into the barest of smiles - the one that said, _You're trying too damn hard to play it cool_ - and Aaron knew he had made a mistake.

Then again, those on his team were the best. He'd made sure of it. If someone hadn't figured it out by now, then perhaps he should reevaluate how effective they were as a whole.

Still, Aaron wondered what concessions he'd have to make so that Dave would keep his damn mouth shut for just a little while longer. Of course, other man had his fair share of indiscretions… but was Spencer really an indiscretion? Aaron stopped himself right there, unwilling to allow his mind to chase down that beaten path of logic.

"Hah!" Morgan declared as he stood up and pointed to Spencer. "Gotcha, pretty boy! She's older! Oooh-whoo! Hot cougar mama teaching my boy the ropes." He ruffled Spencer's hair, which earned an indignant yelp.

"Dad!" Spencer suddenly called out. "Morgan's picking on me!"

It wasn't the ladies who howled in laughter; it was Dave. _Bastard,_ Aaron thought. Worse, it wasn't Aaron doing the teaching. That was the other thing that bothered him about the relationship: he was totally dependant on Spencer just to _know_ what he was thinking, guess what was freaking him out, come up with a solution so that the awkward pauses weren't too awkward.

He warned with his best parental tone, "Children…"

JJ giggled appropriately. Prentiss snorted. Dave coughed out another laugh.

"C'mon, Hotch!" Morgan protested as he ambled down to where Aaron was. "You gotta admit you're curious. Look at our boy. Cocky. Confident. He's got that whole pride thing going on."

Knowing he had to play along, Aaron asked, "Reid, who have you been seeing?"

"A gentleman _never_ tells," Spencer replied primly. "And _I_, sir, am a perfect gentleman."

Aaron looked at Morgan. "There you go."

Morgan groaned and settled into the seat. Dave patted his knee affectionately. "Don't worry, Derek. He'll break soon. They all do."

_**/***/**_

_**"To believe is very dull. To doubt is intensely engrossing. To be on the alert is to live, to be lulled into security is to die."  
- Oscar Wilde**_

_**/***/**_

There were cases that went bad and cases that went spectacularly bad. And then, there were cases that went spectacularly bad involving Spencer. Aaron had always been protective of his youngest team member yet now struggled to find the balance between concern as a supervisor and concern as a lover.

God, Aaron hated cults. He hated pompous state attorney generals even more. There had been a certain satisfaction in telling that asshole off because if they _had only known_, Prentiss and Spencer would not have been held hostage by the cult. Jessica wouldn't have necessarily died, her baby growing up an orphan. Nancy Lunde would not have been shot dead. Prentiss wouldn't have been beaten. Spencer wouldn't be weighed down with guilt despite being the key in helping them break the case.

Aaron understood exactly why Prentiss had offered herself up as the infiltrator to Benjamin Cyrus, why she had endured the beating. He would have done the same. Hell, the whole team would have done the same. Spencer had been through too much already and a drug addiction was never cured, just managed. They never said it aloud but it was always on their minds. Aaron's especially.

"Reid…" Aaron started as they walked towards the jet. He touched his lover on the forearm, a rarity in public, to hold him back.

Spencer fixed a glare on his hand and then him. Aaron could see the wall going up and knew that the more he pushed, the more Spencer would withdrawal. Spencer then spat stiffly, "You should be checking after Em. She was the one who was hurt, not me. I've survived bomb blasts before. So has Morgan. And I'm _really_ not in the mood to be asked certain questions about my personal life, Hotch, even if you _are_ my supervisor."

Spencer stalked up the jet's stairs.

_I'm not going to break._ His lover's whispered words echoed in Aaron's head, as did the younger man's frustration that everyone seemed to treat him with kid gloves. _I'll let you know when something bothers me._ True to his word, Spencer had. No spinach. No room in total darkness. Never starting a sentence with "If you're so smart, then why…". No kisses or touches on Spencer's inner elbows _ever_.

Aaron stood there a few moments before making his way on board. He did talk with Prentiss, who swore up and down she was fine despite her injuries as she continually glanced at Spencer with protective concern. No wonder Spencer still felt like he was treated special. Aaron even overheard the conversation she had with Spencer, how she'd do it again in a heartbeat.

If only Prentiss had said, "You know how cults operate, Reid. You _made_ that connection with Cyrus. You _convinced_ him to release those kids. He wouldn't have listened to me. Women in his mind were inferior. You had him at Benjamin Franklin."

Logic. Facts. That was how to ease Spencer's mind, not an emotional appeal.

The rest of the flight was spent in relative quiet, the team either doing paperwork or crashed out. It wasn't until they were thirty-minutes out that Morgan approached Spencer, hands held up in mock surrender as he declared quietly, "Just want to talk. No teasing."

Spencer regarded him warily but still gave a faint nod.

Morgan's voice was pitched low but Aaron could decipher it easily. Funny how the team had conversations around him while he did paperwork, as if he wouldn't eavesdrop. It wasn't intentional. They should know better.

"Look, man. Do _not_ let what happened back there get to you," Morgan told Spencer firmly. "I can see you closing up, shutting down. You can't _do_ that. You get yourself on that phone and call your girl. You go out with her, go dancing, go do trivia contests… hell, go to a _Star Trek_ convention. But don't think about the case, okay? You go out with your girl tonight, you lose yourself with her…"

"What the _hell_ is it with you and my personal life?" Spencer hissed viciously.

"Hey!" Morgan began but Spencer cut him off.

"Will you just _stop?_ You don't go chasing after anyone else when a case goes bad. No. Just me. I'm not a child. You don't need to coddle me. You act as if I can't handle things. You're all focused on _me_ when you should be worried about Emily. Talking to her. Paying attention to her."

"... the hell, man?"

Spencer rocketed to his feet, body tense and hands at his sides. Aaron dreaded what was coming next. He and Spencer had only argued a few times, but when they had, it had been intense, especially when the normally spastic Spencer became completely still. The thing about arguing with a genius who just happened to be a profiler was that he knew exactly what the weaknesses were and used them with calculating efficiency.

Spencer's words were now low, cruelly tinged. He leaned towards Morgan and delivered the blow: "You want a repeat of Elle? You were her party buddy, but _I_ was her friend. You took her to Jamaica, but _I_ was the only one who talked to her after what happened. _You_ never did. You blew her off. Maybe if you had given a shit about Elle, she wouldn't have-"

"Wait one fucking second," Morgan snapped, getting to his feet as well and rolling his shoulders forward.

"Hey!" Dave stepped between the two and physically pushed them apart. Prentiss and JJ were now fully awake and watching. Aaron found himself unable to move, pen poised over the paperwork. Dave's voice was deadly soft, hard and even. "Give it a rest. _Both_ of you."

Spencer bounced on the balls of his feet, clearly ready to continue. God only knew what other ammo he had lined up but Dave held his gaze. Morgan flexed his hands twice, a gesture Aaron knew all too well. Spencer had scored deeply, unfairly perhaps. There was that unspoken rule not to bring Elle's or Gideon's departures into an argument.

It was Spencer who backed down first, storming to the back of the jet and muttering, "Jesus fucking Christ!" - a deliberate effort to shock the team because the belief that Spencer Reid didn't curse - as he threw himself bodily into one of the chairs. He crossed his arms, stretched his legs out, and stared down anyone who dared to meet his eyes.

"Sit," Dave pushed at Morgan before giving Aaron the _Talk to him look_.

Aaron glanced back and found Spencer's hard gaze on him: _Don't even __**try**__ it_. If Spencer had pulled out the Elle comment on Morgan, Aaron knew that there was the possibility that Haley was on the horizon. The last thing he wanted to hear was Spencer's assessment of that relationship, especially in front of the others.

No. Spencer wouldn't go that far. He'd stay on the Elle Train because that was a shared, raw wound. Aaron was sure of it.

Still, he didn't risk it. He was, after all, a coward, no matter what Spencer said.

The rest of the trip was spent in awkward silence and when they landed, the team except Aaron and Spencer quickly deplaned. Aaron took the seat across from him, hands folded loosely and really not wanting to have this conversation.

"You're going to tell me to apologize to Morgan," Spencer said flatly. "And that I was out of line for bringing up Elle."

"I'm not going to tell you something you already know."

"What about how our relationship disrupts team dynamics? That you felt you couldn't reprimand me in public because you feared of what I may say?"

Aaron sighed. He'd learned not to really bullshit Spencer the fourth time they were together. "Yes, I was concerned about what you might say, but that doesn't mean I didn't agree with you to a certain extent. We didn't reach out to Elle. _I_ didn't. I failed her. I made certain assumptions about the team. We lost a good agent . We lost a good friend. I lost a good friend."

Spencer didn't reply immediately. Finally, "Are we done?"

"It's late. I'll drive you home."

"No."

Aaron blinked.

Spencer scrubbed his face with his hands as he stood. "I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm not offering to be one."

"I'm not in the mood to be your bitch."

Aaron shot to his feet, grabbing Spencer's arm roughly, his thumb on the curve of the elbow and made Spencer flinch. _Fuck the rules._

"You're _not_," Aaron snapped, more wounded by the words than he thought he could be. "Never. How can you even say that?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Then. Let. Me. Go." He shook him off, picked up his messenger bag, and brushed by him. He turned to face Aaron at the top of the jet way. "I need some time, Aaron. I need to think this through."

With that, Spencer left.

Aaron collapsed in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose and willing himself not to punch the table in front of him.

It was supposed to be different this time.

Different.

*** End Part 3 ***


	4. Triggers & Ties 4: Rains & Pours

**Title:** Triggers and Ties, Part 4: Rains and Pours  
**Author:** Kuria Dalmatia  
**Rating:** FRAO/NC-17, sexual and adult situations, frank discussion of sex, profanity  
**Series:** _Criminal Minds_  
**Pairing:** Hotch/Reid  
**Summary:** It wasn't fair to Reid to compare to Haley - something Aaron told himself every time they were together - but he found himself unable to stop.

Thanks to **pabzi** for the beta and encouragement. Any mistakes left are mine. Feedback always welcome.

ARCHIVING: my LJ... anyone else? Please ask first.

DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own _Criminal Minds_. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.  
**/***/  
"Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured."  
- Mark Twain  
/***/**

Aaron always liked storms. As a child, he used to stare out the bay window of his parent's house for hours, watching the lightening dance across the sky and counting hippopotami until the thunder clapped. He wondered if Spencer did the same as a kid. Or was Spencer like Sean, sleeping on the floor of his parents' bedroom, shaking from fear that the lightening would strike too close, too fast?

He sipped his wine as he slouched in the beanbag chair in front of the French doors to the backyard. Television really held no interest. Infomercials, sports highlights, and reruns of procedural dramas that he hated because juries nowadays expected all the evidence to be presented like on TV.

He'd steadily worked through half a bottle of rioja, a heavy Spanish red. He'd selected it to go with the pathetic "meal to go" from the grocery. Aaron wondered what the hell he had been thinking when he bought the store-made paella. Honestly. Questionable rice with mussels and clams?

He should have ordered take out from that little mom and pop restaurant that Dave frequented. All he had to do was mention Dave's name and Mama Bianchi herself would come out from the kitchen with Pasta O Furnu Catanisa and Mele Cotte Ripiene. She would insist on the wine to go with the meal, ask who he was sharing it with, and then fuss over him because Aaron was "too skinny".

God only knew what she would do if she ever saw Spencer.

Rossi. Bianchi.

Red. White.

Aaron supposed he was blue nowadays.

Lightening flash.

One hippopotamus. Two hippopotami. Three hippopotami.

Thunderclap.

The heart of the storm was three miles away.

He glanced at his cell phone: 9:47 p.m. Thursday. Chinese takeout night. At least, that's what Aaron had decided to call it in his mind. The NA meetings were something Spencer simply didn't talk about; Aaron never pushed.

But the fact it was Thursday bothered him because he _wasn't_ with Spencer. After that first time, Aaron began showing up at Spencer's apartment after 9:45 p.m. They'd share whatever take out Spencer brought home with a few cups of Nespresso coffee; Tsingtao beer was reserved for milestones. Then, they would celebrate. Funny that for the first time in his life, sex was truly a joyous occasion.

Yet since that discussion on the plane after the Cyrus case, Aaron hadn't had any contact with Spencer outside of work. Five weeks and counting. Spencer staunchly turned down every offer to drive him home, to have dinner together, to do something even if it wasn't sex. He had made it blatantly clear that Aaron wasn't welcome at his apartment. Hell, the man even hung up on Aaron once a conversation turned from work to personal.

Aaron knew that, technically, Spencer was a rebound. Those relationships were never supposed to last. Aaron had seen so many of his colleagues get burned by them. Dave fully admitted that Wife Number Two had been a pity fuck and an attempt to maintain some sort of accepted social normalcy for a man in his mid-thirties.

Aaron thought he would never fall for it. He was too smart. Too selective. Too _Aaron Hotchner_ to even think about it. After all, Haley was supposed to be until death did they part.

He sipped the wine. He wondered what the name of Haley's lover was. It wouldn't be that hard to find out, not even requiring a favor from Garcia, just the cell phone bills. He just never bothered to. Wasn't worth the effort. He didn't want to know because then he'd automatically profile the person based just on the name.

Another lightening flash.

One hippopotamus. Two hippopotami.

Thunderclap.

The heart of the storm was two miles away.

He didn't want to think about the conversation with Dave this morning, but it wouldn't go away. Dave had been his typical blunt self, almost too omniscient if Aaron really thought about it. Then again, Aaron had been around for the collapse with Wife Number Two and had endured the pub crawl when the divorce papers had been signed. He'd never puked so much in his entire life; that had also been the last time Haley had allowed him out with "the boys". Maybe this had been Dave's way of repaying that old debt.

Dave had closed the door behind him and had sat on the corner of Aaron's desk. "You're miserable." Bold. Arrogant. Classic David Rossi. "So is Spencer. He's just doing a better job at hiding it. Else, we're cutting him a helluva lot more slack nowadays."

He had wanted to be surprised at Dave's frankness, to be angry that Dave would dare bring the subject up at the office. His tone had been reproachful, icy. "This, coming from the man who..."

"This is not about me, Aaron. It's about you. You being stupid. Spencer doesn't know any better. He's confused. Unsure of himself. Christ, do you have any idea how many times in the past month that he's gone up to your office but turned around half-way there?"

"No." Surprise had made the answer slip out too quickly. He had tried to cover it with: "And how does that involve me?"

"You gave up after your little one-on-one with him after the Cyrus case."

"What?"

"You're sitting in here, thinking that he's rejecting you when out there, he just wants acknowledgement that he stood up for himself."

"Dave..."

"The man kicked Morgan in the balls about Greenaway. Sure, he apologized for it - something I think he _shouldn't_ have done but it shows he doesn't necessarily subscribe to conventional or profiler wisdom." Dave had crossed his arms, staring down at him like he was a rookie.

Anger had made Aaron spit out, "I _did_ admit I was wrong about Elle."

"That wasn't what he was looking for."

"And suddenly, the man with three ex-wives suddenly has all the insight?"

Dave had actually smiled. "I know where I went wrong. And I know a damn good thing when I see it. Whatever the hell is going on with you, Aaron, he's got it figured out. He just doesn't know what to do."

Aaron had glared. Finally, he had spit out, "Like I know what the hell I'm doing," because maybe the guy with three ex-wives actually _did_ know something useful and was willing to share.

Dave's smile had grown bigger. "I know that you _don't_ have to be Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner when you're together. Working long hours and being called away is no longer a factor. You _don't_ have to be perfect. You don't have to make all these promises about being somewhere, doing chores, or God knows what else. You make mistakes and he doesn't crucify you for it."

His gaze, he was sure, had turned lethal.

Dave had shrugged before delivering, "You have to fight for what you want, Aaron."

A sucker punch. Bastard. If it had been anyone else, he would have said "fuck off". Instead, he had met the gaze of the one man in the place who would understand. His words had been forced because it had hurt to admit. "I didn't fight for Haley."

"Bullshit."

He had narrowed his eyes.

Dave had bared his teeth a little. "Rumor has it that you resigned from the Bureau to make her happy. If that's not fighting for something, I don't know what the hell is. You did everything you could to make things work. You need to admit to yourself that it takes two to tango and Haley stopped dancing a long time ago. She had a plan, Aaron. She wanted to be the wife of a district attorney who would run for political office. While else would she have bitched so much about _not_ having to throw dinner parties?

"Spencer? He's that shy guy in the corner convinced that no one will ever ask him to dance, much less keep him out on the floor for the more than one pity song."

"That's pretty clichéd, Dave."

"Clichéd, yes. But true." He had let out a long sigh before shaking his head. "Look, I can't tell you what the rest of the team has figured out. Right now, the bets are that you're doing the whole 'Gideon-father figure-mentoring' thing and Spencer's torn up because he's disappointed you somehow. I happen to think it's a little more. A lot more. Then again, I've known you longer."

"And when the rest of the team figures out? Fraternization..."

"Damn. You really _are_ blind." Dave had laughed. "You remember what Morgan said before all this mess. They just care that Spencer's happy. That you're happy. The girls?" Only David Rossi could get away with referring to three female agents that way and not get slapped. "They're not judgmental. As for Morgan... he spilled his coffee in his lap when Spencer corrected him on _gender_ but hasn't pressed the issue since."

"This is exactly why..."

"Morgan will get over it. More than anything, he'll appreciate your discretion." Dave had then moved from the edge of his desk to the door. "Although he has said that he will put the head of the man who breaks Spencer's heart on a stick. I'd hate to lose our SAC that way." He had opened the door. "It's Thursday, Aaron. The only day of the week you leave precisely at 6:45 p.m. and offer Spencer a ride home. Friday is the only morning your two arrive in tandem with coffee from the same shop and you have a smile that doesn't look forced. Think about it."

Now, Aaron stared out the French doors as the rain pummeled the outdoor furniture, soaking the flowered seat cushions that he absolutely despised.

Another lightening flash.

One hippopotamus.

Thunderclap.

The heart of the storm was one mile away.

Aaron pushed himself out of the chair, glass tipping over and spilling the red wine on the pale beige of the carpet. It was after Jack's bedtime. Haley would have accused him of being drunk, quietly of course because she feared waking the baby. She would have cursed him as she sprinkled baking soda in a pathetic attempt to remove the stain.

Two glasses of wine over two hours? Barely even a buzz.

He buttoned his collar, tightened his tie, and slid on his suit coat as he made his way to the door. Gun. Credentials. Wallet. Keys. To hell with the umbrella because he _liked_ the rain.

It only took fifteen minutes to get to Spencer's apartment. Aaron debated on stopping at the Cantonese place along the way but realized how late it was. Spencer would have already gotten his order. And his can of Tsingtao beer.

Spencer wasn't the only one who could work the numbers.

He knocked.

Firmly.

Without fear.

One hippopotamus. Two hippopotami. Three hippopotami. Four hippopotami.

"Hotch?" The pitch was one of surprised confusion, with the unspoken, _Why are you here?_ hanging in the air.

Aaron had no offering except himself. He should have brought flowers. Chocolates. A Stephen Hawking novel. _Something._

Softly, he said, "One year. Six months. Three days. You don't like celebrating alone."

Christ, he hoped he wasn't wrong.

"Um. Oh." Spencer's face reddened as he cleared his throat a few times. "Uh. A minute, please?"

The door closed in his face.

Aaron had been on the receiving end of a bullet before. It was not as excruciating as this.

Idiot.

Moron.

To think _he_ was the only one Spencer entertained. All that experience had to come from somewhere, and the strategic placement of condoms and lube throughout the apartment hadn't escaped his notice.

Humiliation rooted Aaron to the spot. It overrode the coward that wished to run away. It also brought a haze that swirled in Aaron's mind.

The door opened again. Spencer ushered him in, hands fluttering from nerves. Non sequiturs fell steadily like the rain outside.

Aaron's instincts took over. Scan. Catalogue. Analyze. Find what the _fuck_ was out of place in the apartment, besides the motherfucking son of a bitch sitting on Spencer's couch and _eating_ - of all the goddamned things - Ma Yi Shang Shu covered with some electric orange goo that screamed "Mall Chinese" instead of gourmet.

Fucking heathen.

A heathen attempting to eat with chopsticks.

Aaron knew how to kill someone using chopsticks. Not the bullshit, Hollywood version, but the honest to God, "I worked a case where the UnSub killed his victims using chopsticks" kind of way.

Spencer was in _'I'm trying hard not to be spastic'_ mode. Chatting about Nikola Tesla, telegeodynamics, the Bremsstrahlung process... and didn't Aaron - Christ! Did Spencer actually use his first name in front of this bastard? - want to take off his suit coat that was soaking wet or at least want a towel to dry off?

"I'm fine." Except that Aaron wanted to frog march the intruder to the curb and along the way, treat him to a personal profile that would leave scars for years.

Thirty-five to forty-year-old man. Male-pattern baldness with the typical comb-over in a pathetic attempt to mask it. Law enforcement, the shield clipped to his belt indicating he was a detective from Alexandria. Shoulder holster on the end table but not within reach to distance himself from his job. Obviously, barely holding on to his rank from the look of the badly scuffed shoes, faded dress shirt straining over a paunchy stomach and rumpled khakis; successful cops always dressed more respectably, gut or no gut.

This guy... he had hoped that law enforcement would make him the man he thought he should be but failing. His father had been abusive, domineering - probably a beat cop - while his mother had been passive aggressive. Former junkie. Cocaine by the way he swiped his nose constantly. Probably picked up the habit on the narc beat as a way to escape his failing marriage and flagging career. Divorced but still not used to it by the way he absently rubbed where his wedding ring should be.

Trying to appear worldly by wielding chopsticks - probably because Spencer offered them - but was definitely a fork and knife man. He had to have connections somewhere because why else would that hard ass Alexandria unit chief put up with such a pathetic sack of shit? Was he like Cal McGee from Kansas City, a legacy cop who people only kept around out of respect for the father?

"Hungry?" It was that specific Spencer squeak of uncertainty. The fact it wasn't a full sentence meant something, but Aaron wasn't sure quite what.

"No."

"Tsingtao?" and the word tinged with that special panicked Spencer tone.

He stared at the mug by the intruder's plate. "Nespresso. Black."

"Uh. Yeah. Sure. I have..."

"The arpeggio." More of a sentimental choice since it was the first kind that Spencer had ever served him and it just happened to be Spencer's preferred blend.

"Uh. Yes. Arpeggio. Okay." There was a painful pause. "Aaron. Ben. Ben. Aaron." Then, Spencer retreated to the kitchen. A few seconds later, cups crashed unexpectedly followed by a short dissertation on Kopi Luwak, the palm civet cat, and the world's most expensive coffee. Spencer then apologized that he didn't have any to share because it was $300 per pound and he'd spent his money on a first edition _Elements of Euclid by Euclid_ published by Charles Wittingham in 1847.

Aaron stood next the worn chair by the couch, right hand casually in his trouser pocket. Ben had stopped eating and was now eyeing him warily. It had dissolved into a staring contest, but it was the type that Aaron could easily win.

Spencer came back, handing him mug of coffee before bending as if to sit on the floor. "No," Aaron said as he touched the back of Spencer's upper arm. "Here." He gestured towards the chair.

Spencer stared at him, confusion in his eyes. He could tell Spencer wanted to ask questions, but held back. Aaron wondered if the intruder could read Spencer as well as he could.

"I'm not going to sit here and be judged by one of your FBI buddies, Spencer," Ben suddenly snarled as he got to his feet. His plate clattered on the coffee table. "Assholes like him think they're better than us."

"It's a common reaction by someone with low self-esteem," Aaron shot back coolly.

"Aaron!" Spencer grabbed his upper arm, squeezing hard, "Ben is a friend. It's _Thursday_."

He knew that was supposed to mean something, but he smelled blood in the water and was debating what kind of kill to make. Swift and precise or long and excruciating. He was currently leaning toward the latter.

He hated losing. Fighting for what he wanted. He could do that. Easily. This guy wasn't even a challenge.

_"Thursday,"_ Spencer repeated but Aaron's rational thought had never made it past the front door. With an authoritative edge that he had never heard before, Spencer added, "I _don't_ want to ask you to leave, but I _will_ if you continue acting like this."

"Don't bother," Ben said as he picked up his holster and slid it on. "This was all a fucking mistake. Like a Fed could possibly fucking understand what the hell it's like to be a _real_ cop!" He put on his coat with jerking motions. "God help you if this bastard is part of your support because he clearly doesn't fucking get it."

"Ben..."

"Good night, Spencer." With that, the other man stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

"Who is he?" Aaron demanded, tone deadly even.

"He's a friend." Spencer went to the door and locked it.

Not good enough! Aaron wanted to shout. Instead, he asked frostily, "How do you know him?"

"It's called 'Anonymous' for a reason, Aaron," Spencer fired back. He then picked up Ben's discarded plate and coffee cup and took them to the kitchen.

Aaron frowned but followed, setting his own mug on the counter.

"You're drinking that Arpeggio, and you're buying the refills." Spencer's angry parental tone should have made him laugh, but it barely registered. After dropping the plates in the sink, Spencer turned, arms firmly across his chest. "What the _hell_ is with you? You show up at my apartment after 10, soaking wet. Intimidate the hell out of friend of mine for no reason. You look one step away from completely losing it. I should know. I deal with insanity on a regular basis."

"You don't like celebrating alone."

"That's not an answer, Aaron. If you're going to be like this, then I think me being alone is a much better option than you staying here."

Aaron took a step closer, heart suddenly hammering in his chest as a flood of memories hit. Dave was wrong. Horribly wrong. Fighting for what he wanted? What the fuck had he been thinking? It was desperation that forced him to say the one thing guaranteed to not get him kicked out of Spencer's apartment: "I don't know how to do this."

Spencer's brow furrowed. He tilted his head slightly as his eyes darted from Aaron to the couch to the door several times before his mouth dropped open. His tone was incredulous. "Wait... What? Huh? You… Ah... You think...?"

Aaron shut him up with a kiss. Hard. Possessive. Perhaps the most passionate he'd ever delivered. Hands pressed against his chest but didn't push him away. _One last hurrah,_ Aaron thought. It was early enough for a pub-crawl with Dave. The son of a bitch who gave him craptastic advice owed him that much at least. Drunk, it would also make it much easier for Morgan to put his head on a stick.

Something, he had a feeling, he fully deserved.

He wasn't expecting Spencer to wrap himself around him, pushing the soaking material from his shoulders until Aaron dropped his hands and the jacket fell to the floor. That was encouragement, yes? And then something took over Aaron's body, because he began maneuvering them towards the couch. It took two tries to get that stupid sweater vest off of Spencer and Aaron flung it somewhere in the apartment. He went to work on Spencer's tie next.

He kicked the coffee table out of the way, books spilling on the floor as he pushed Spencer down onto the couch. He pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, waiting for the slight nod that Spencer gave before resuming. Lips. Jaw. Neck. Earlobes. Spencer's shirt was at his mercy as he popped buttons as he removed it. He trailed kisses down Spencer's chest, alternating with sharp bites that earned gasps.

He pulled at Spencer's belt buckle, undoing it along with the trouser button and zipper. He barely noticed that Spencer was plucking at his clothing but not having much success. When he yanked Spencer's trousers and boxers down, he forced the other man to break contact. It took a few moments and required Aaron pulling off Spencer's right shoe so that the clothing bunched around only one ankle. He pushed his own trousers and boxers to mid-thigh, gun and cell phone dull thuds on the hardwood floor.

Aaron mouthed the pale skin of Spencer's inner thighs, working his way from knee to crotch. When he took Spencer's semi-hard cock in his mouth, he went down until he felt the tip hit the back of his throat. The gag-reflex kicked in and he swallowed. Spencer gasped, clutched the back of his head, and bucked.

Aaron had been doing his own research, after all.

"Oh… Ah! Yes, Aaron," Spencer breathed, fingers digging into his skull.

He blindly reached behind him, knowing the drawer in the coffee table had all the things they needed. He found the lube and condom without too much effort, never once stopping his assault on Spencer's now rock hard cock.

His lashes were wet with exertion but he knew it was totally worth it. Aaron then pulled Spencer forward until his ass was half hanging off the couch and coated his fingers with lube. He stopped just long enough to say, "I want you, Spencer."

He was rewarded with, "Yes."

Yet instead of the slow teasing Aaron had always done in the past, he jabbed his index finger into Spencer, perhaps a bit too hard from the sound Spencer made. He didn't stop with his hands or his mouth. Spencer wasn't going to break. Spencer would tell him to stop if it was too much.

"Yes. Aaron. Ahh. Fuck."

Methodical. Ruthless even. One finger. Two fingers to crook and hit the prostate. Spencer writhed.

He used his left hand to roll the condom on. Awkward, but he was ambidextrous despite his mother's best efforts. Those who where left-handed were agents of the Devil.

Perhaps it was the Devil who possessed his soul now.

"Aaron!" Spencer's head was thrown back, exposing his throat.

"I want you." Growled. Fiercely. "I'm going to take you."

"Condom?"

"I'm not fucking stupid." Complete with a third finger to emphasis his point.

"Ahh! Aaron."

"Yes or no?"

"Yes."

He withdrew his fingers. He thrust up, cock pressing hard against Spencer without breaching. "Look at me."

Spencer opened his eyes, which were fully dilated, and his chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath. He'd never looked so open, so wanton, _so damn sexy_.

Aaron wasn't sure what possessed him to say and do these things. There was a part of him cowering in a corner of his mind, telling him to stop. It made him pause, hold Spencer's gaze, and demand, "Do you want me?"

Spencer's left hand gripped Aaron's collarbone, thumb against his throat and blunt nails digging into his shoulder. "Yes," forcefully said between clenched teeth. "I want you to fuck me, Aaron."

Instinct took over. Tight. Hot. Trying to take it slow so to adjust but... Awkward angles. Stress on his hips and thighs that Aaron had never experienced before.

Primal. He licked and bit Spencer's chest as the other man curled one hand around the back of his head. His own hands were digging to Spencer's hips as he tried to keep himself from pounding his lover into the furniture. Spencer's erection had flagged, though, and it made Aaron more edgy because this wasn't just about him.

He fumbled for the lube, dripping some haphazardly on Spencer's genitals because his coordination was suddenly shot to hell, but Spencer continued to hold the back of his head while his other hand clutched the cushions.

It was as if every nerve of his body was on fire as Aaron ordered, "Stroke yourself."

Slowly, Spencer let go of the couch and tentatively curled those long fingers around his dick. Unlike before, this time the affirmation was almost a whimper. "Yes."

He watched the way Spencer ran his hand along his shaft, as if unsure of what to do. Gone was the sexually confident Spencer who had once given him a hand job in the SUV because they where stuck in traffic and Spencer was in a daring mood. Instead, here was this shy man who seemed intimidated by touching himself.

That wasn't what or who Aaron desired. Sex with Spencer was adventuresome, the younger man pushing Aaron's boundaries with each encounter. There was one "experiment" that had been particularly successful.

Aaron increased his pace, earning a gasp from Spencer. He then met Spencer's eyes as he commanded, "Stroke yourself like you do when I'm fucking you from behind and you're watching yourself in the mirror."

Spencer's entire body shuddered as he gasped out, "Nrgh." He became bolder, working and squeezing and twisting.

"That's it. Faster."

"A-aaron." The name dragged out between sharp breaths.

"God, yes." He tightened his grip he continued to fuck Spencer. "You're _mine._" And where the hell had _that_ come from? But Aaron didn't care. "Mine."

"Aaron." Spencer's hand increased the pace "Yes."

"No one else."

"Of course, Aaron."

"Mine." The rhythm was aching. Difficult to kept in sync. Lanky limbs sharp against his own. The tops of Aaron's thighs burned, as if he'd been bench-pressing an ungodly weight.

"Yes."

"Spence."

"So good."

Aaron couldn't reply. His quads threatened to give out. He stretched, maneuvering until Spencer's long legs were draped over his shoulders and he grabbed the back of the couch with both hands. He shifted until his glutes kicked in. The sound Spencer made was between surprise and pain.

"Spence."

It was meant as a question but he sunk his teeth into the soft flesh, earning a yelp that sounded sort of like a "yes". Aaron knew he should pause. Knew he should look Spencer in the eyes. Knew he should have some sort of permission for this brutality. But his gaze was on Spencer's cock, mesmerized by how he fisted it.

"Mine. You're _mine_." He growled the words, unsure of where they were coming from.

"Yes."

The pace was driving, faster than he'd ever dared before. His body was pulsing as he continued, everything focused on the hot tight heat, Spencer's lustful gasps, and his own grunts of exertion. He could feel his body wound tight, his mind caught up in the feel… the feel of it.

When the climax hit, he bit down on Spencer's shoulder, muffling his yell of release. Spencer hissed but his hand never slowed. Aaron's mind clouded even more, his dick still hard and balls aching and he didn't know why. His pace slowed, he leaned back just enough so that Spencer's legs fell on either side but Aaron was determined to keep going until Spencer hit his release. He wanted to have those muscles clench around him, just like the third time Spencer had ridden him.

"Come for me," he coaxed. "I want to feel you. I need to feel you."

Spencer's hand paused for just a second.

Aaron's tone immediately to a harsh bark. "Come for me."

Spencer shuddered as Aaron rolled the younger man's nipple between thumb and forefinger. Spencer's muscles twitched as he whispered, "Yes."

"That's it. Work your cock. Stroke it for me. You like this? You're mine, Spencer. You're going to come for me."

"Y-yyes." Stuttered. Breathless.

"I'm still hard for you. You feel it?" Aaron shifted slightly, earning a choked howl from Spencer that meant he was hitting that sweet spot. "I am going to fuck you until you can't walk."

"Aahhh."

"You do this to me."

"Aaron."

"You're close aren't you? You're going to come with my hard cock deep in your ass. You do this to me. You're mine."

Spencer's moans hit a crescendo before he convulsed twice as the orgasm hit. It was Aaron who bayed and arched as Spencer pulsed around him. It was Aaron who sunk his teeth into the sinewy muscle of Spencer's neck. Aaron finally slowed when his body refused to continue.

Someone breathed, "Yes, finally" but Aaron wasn't sure whom.

Aaron dropped down, heels against his own ass. Spencer followed, his weight pressing down.

"Finally." Breathed against his neck.

"Spencer." He lifted Spencer's cum-covered hand. He took each finger in his mouth, bathed each with his tongue until he suckled the palm and earned a shiver.

"Yes." Spencer was blinking rapidly, as if trying to process everything.

He kissed him again, long and deep, trying to taste every bit of Spencer. His Spencer. He then latched onto Spencer's neck, biting and swirling his tongue, feeling the still rapid pulse. "Spencer."

"Shhhh. Shhhh." Aaron was pushed back a little, but he threaded his hands in Spencer's hair and pressed into another kiss. It only lasted a few moments before Spencer turned his head slightly to break contact. His fingers brushed Aaron's lips - "Shhhh". He then curled his arms around Aaron's shoulders and rested his forehead against Aaron's.

"You're mine," Aaron breathed.

"I know."

/End Part 4/


End file.
